“Do you think Twonette a very pretty girl?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered, surprised at the abrupt question.  I caught a glimpse of Yolanda’s face and saw that I had made a mistake, so I continued hastily:  “That is—­yes—­yes, she is pretty, though not beautiful.  Her face, I think, is rather dollish.  It is a fine creation in pink and white, but I fear it lacks animation.”

“Now for the stairway in the wall,” said Yolanda, settling herself with the pretty little movements peculiar to her when she was contented.  “As I told you, grandfather built it.  Afterward he ceded Peronne to King Louis, and for many years none of our family ever saw the castle.  A few years ago King Louis ceded it to my father.  Father has never lived here, and has visited Peronne only once in a while, for the purpose of looking after his affairs on the French border.  The castle is very strong, and, being here on the border at the meeting of the Somme and the Cologne, it has endured many sieges, but it has never been taken.  It is called ‘Peronne La Pucelle.’

“Father’s infrequent visits to the castle have been brief, and all who have ever known of the stairway are dead or have left Burgundy, save the good people in this house, my mother, my tire-woman, and myself.  Three or four years ago, when I was a child, mother and I, unhappy at Ghent and an annoyance to father, came here to live in the castle, and—­and—­I wonder what Sir Max and Twonette find to talk about—­and Twonette and I became friends.  I love Twonette dearly, but she is a sly creature, for all she is so demure, and she is bolder than you would think, Sir Karl.  These very demure girls are often full of surprises.  She has been sitting there in the shadow with Sir Max for half an hour.  That, I say, would be bold in any girl.  Well, to finish about the staircase:  my bedroom, as I told you, was my grandfather’s.  One day Twonette was visiting me, and we—­we—­Sir Max, what in the world are you and Twonette talking about?  We can’t hear a word you say.”

“We can’t hear what you are saying,” retorted Max.

“I wish you were young, Sir Karl,” whispered Yolanda, “so that I might make him jealous.”

“Shall we come to you?” asked Max.

“No, no, stay where you are,” cried Yolanda; then, turning to me, “Where did I stop?”

“Your bedroom—­” I suggested.

“Yes—­my bedroom was my grandfather’s.  One day I had Twonette in to play with me, and we rummaged every nook and corner we could reach.  By accident we discovered the movable panel.  We pushed it aside, and spurring our bravery by daring each other, we descended the dark stairway step by step until we came suddenly against the oak panel at the foot.  We grew frightened and cried aloud for help.  Fortunately, Tante Castleman was on the opposite side of the panel in the oak room, and—­and—­”

She had been halting in the latter part of her narrative and I plainly saw what was coming.